Pieces: Book One, The Rending

by VerSal SaVant

  "And for the crown of your head, most honorable mayor,” Fleetra said lifting an unusual object high into the air. Pentalope gasped at the sight of it.

  Fleetra had selected four pieces of the most exquisite shapes which she professionally joined together. Like the young lad on the previous day, she had intuitively fit the extension of each piece into the indentation of another. For it seemed that they were somehow designed for this very purpose. Even so, they didn't fit together very well, and Fleetra had to use veget thread to keep them in place. Unlike the lad’s hat, Fleetra added a fifth piece - the one which had landed between Pentalope’s thighs. This she mounted on the front of the other four, elevating it half again as high so that it sat magnificently above the other pieces. Or to Pentalope’s mind - above all other pieces.

  Reverently Pentalope slowly approached Fleetra and, being somewhat taller than the seamstress, knelt down before her. As Wudrick looked on, Fleetra slowly lowered the object toward the crown of Pentalope's head.

  “Your hat, ma’am,” Fleetra said.

  “Hat? Oh, no, this is too magnificent to be called a mere hat. It must have a more fitting name. Think of one!” Pentalope demanded in her characteristic overbearing fashion.

  “Well, I don't know,” Fleetra answered, a bit puzzled. "I guess we could call it a - a crown cover, if you like?"

  "Yes, a crown cover. No, wait! A crown. Yes that’s it. My beautiful, exquisite, crown!" exclaimed Pentalope as she slowly rose to her feet, unnecessarily steadying it with her hands, though it was a perfect fit.

  “My pretty, perfect, crown of power.”

  "Wuderbutz, help me up the stairs," she demanded. "I must see how wonderful I look - I do look splendid, don't I, Wuderbutz?"

  "Yes, oh yes. You look quite splendid, my dear,” Mr. Pulpitt said in truth as he grabbed the trailing tail of the mantle.

  The pieces were so light, the mantle felt no heavier than the plain veget cloth, yet because of their bulk, they proved somewhat awkward to wear. However, Pentalope was determined to overcome any such difficulty.

  The crown, also, proved a bit awkward, as it constantly slipped from one side of Pentalope’s oily, unwashed head to the other. So Fleetra steadied it as the three of them gradually made their way up the stairs to the full-length mirror in the master bedroom. The accent would have been much easier if Pentalope would have removed the crown and mantel, but she wouldn't - she couldn't. Her newly acquired adornments fit her too well - not just her long lanky frame, but her very persona. For in them she could feel the pleasurable sensation of unbridled power surging through her body.

  ***** ***** *****

  As the sun edged toward the horizon just beyond the sandy rolling hills, the blackness of the night's sky began to melt into the cool greys of a new dawn.

  All night long Loden studied, considered and studied some more the strange piece he had claimed for his own at the well. The more he held it, the more he desired it; and the more he desired it, the more his rebellious spirit surfaced from beneath the thin veil of pseudo-conformity.

  By morning Loden felt such a conviction erupting from so deeply within him, he could hardly believe it came from within him at all. Although he didn’t understand it, he was sure it had something to do with his piece of the sky now hanging close to his heart from a cord tied about his neck. Never, he vowed, would it be out of reach. For he couldn’t help but feel that this strange object would someday play a crucial role in the success of the coming rebellion - and beyond all doubt, a rebellion there would be. Somehow this strange object had imbued him with an aura of confidence to face a future where nothing would ever again be as it had always been. He now had the courage to put his ideas into actions - to turn his rebellious spirit into treason.

  Giving up on sleep, Loden left his hut and strolled toward the well. Looking northward, he was surprised to find that Center House was already a bustle of activity, as indicated by the flickering movement of shadows cast on the drawn window curtains. True to his nature, he was quite curious about the circumstances behind all this late night activity. Perhaps, he pondered, like himself the mayor has sensed the imminent confrontation which must inevitably arise between them.

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  When Tyter awoke he felt refreshed. His arm lay beneath his pillow, curled around the mysterious piece he had brought up from the bowels of the well. Quickly, he pushed the pillow aside. The piece was still invisible in the morning light already creeping through the open window. Had he checked an hour earlier he would have seen it’s glowing rainbow of colors glimmering in the black of the night, just as it had when he first discovered it in the well cavern.

  Taking the piece with him, Tyter got up, rinsed his face in the wash basin, and dressed. Then he dropped the piece down the open collar of his pullover knowing it would descend to where his waist belt fitted the garment snugly to his waist. At once, a euphoric contentment enveloped him.

  Stepping into the eating room, he found Bourg snorting and twisting in his favorite chair. Sensing another presence in the room, Bourg's mind sprang to consciousness. His sleep-blurry eyes first focused on the faintly glowing piece laying before him on the table, then on the candle which had melted to its base. Next, he saw Tyter who was staring at the piece on the table.

  "Humph!" Bourg cleared his voice and sat up straight. "Good morning, lad,” he said in his gentlest, gruff voice. "How are you feeling this morning?"

  "Fine, Sir,” Tyter answered, still staring at the piece.

  Bourg noticed his extreme interest in it and cursed himself for having ever retrieved it the veget garden. Or, at the least, hidden it somewhere out of sight. But on further consideration he decided there was nothing he could do but recognize the simple truth: there was no escaping the reality of these strange objects. After all, the heavens had scattered them all over Nuttinnew while poor Tyter was lost in the well. How could he expect to shelter Tyter from their existence? But seeing Tyter and the piece together gave Bourg an uneasy feeling, though he wasn’t sure why. Still, he decided it was best to go right to the heart of the matter.

  "Strange, huh?" Bourg asked, watching the expression on Tyter's face.

  "Yes, very, where did it come from?"

  Bourg explained, in his own terse fashion, the strange event of the previous day: how a window to the night sky had opened up in the midst of the sun and through it a multitude of these shiny pieces had showered down upon them like a spring rain.

  Tyter listened in amazement to the story. It seemed even stranger than his own tale at the bottom of the well. He wanted to tell Bourg about the similar object presently snuggling against his belly. But when Bourg completed his tale, he abruptly sprang from his chair and fell into preparing their morning meal, as if he was determined that nothing more could or should be said about the subject.

  ***** ***** *****

  Loden arrived at the well first, followed by a straggling band of weary-eyed Nuttinnewians. Before the sun had cleared the rolling hills, he’d begun waking up the people who lived to the east of the well. Using every means he could think of, he urged, argued, bantered and coerced every male, female and child out of their sleepy complacency, into their pullovers and on their way to the well.

  What he couldn’t do, no matter how hard he tried, was to get any of them to leave their sacks of pieces home. Thus making it very difficult for them to carry their ration buckets. As it turned out many people staggered up to the well with sacks of pieces in hand, but no water bucket for their life-giving ration of water.

  From her dressing room window Pentalope could see a trail of easterners following Loden to the well. From the west, she saw only Bourg and his young charge making their way.

  "Well, that's a fine thing,” Pentalope huffed as she fought to get her crown untangled from the curtain cord.

  "The easterners are already beginning to gather at the well, but not one westerner - except for that disgustingly crude wellkeeper of the west and his equally odd little orphan
child,” Pentalope muttered and sputtered as Fleetra and Wudrick tried to help her get untangled.

  The task would have been much easier if she would have simply removed the crown, but she still refused to take it off. After much unnecessary pushing, pulling, bumping, shoving, twisting and turning, the crown and cord were eventually separated.

  "To the tower, Wuderbutz - quickly!" Pentalope ordered. "Go pound on that thing you found up there as hard as you can. I want noise, lots and lots of noise. I want everyone’s full attention when I step off the Center House porch in my magnificent crown and mantle. Then, once you see me at the well, dash back down here and take our ration buckets out to the well.”

  "But, but,” Wudrick stammered, "Do - do you really think that is necessary, my dear? I - I mean the warning....”

  "I wouldn’t have said it, if I didn’t think it was necessary, my dear.” Pentalope learned so close to her husband’s face their noses almost touched - so close the fire in Pentalope's eyes threatened to singe the hairs on Wudrick’s eyebrows. There was a noticeable lack of endearment in the tone of her voice.

  Straightening up, she stretched out a long, thin arm and snapped her spindly fingers, then pointed her scrawny, angular index finger upward, toward the Center House bell tower. On this cue as always, Wudrick dashed out of the room and down the long hallway to the secret panel which hid the entrance to the bell tower.

  ***** ***** *****

  Bourg was amazed at the number of people from the east who had already begun to gather at the well. He turned and looked back at the sleepy looking huts behind him. Not a soul could be seen. Not a sound of life could be heard. "I should have done something - something.” He shook his head and groaned.

  Tyter, also, looked back, then up at Bourg, as if to make sure the mournful sound really did come from his guardian.

  Meanwhile, Loden continued crying out instructions to the people of the east.

  "Come on! Get in line. Everybody. Line up. If you forgot your water buckets, send one person, I repeat, just one person, back to your hut to retrieve them. Hurry now! The rest of you, come along quickly and line up." Loden voice rose with urgency when he turned and saw Bourg and Tyter approaching.

  "Look, here comes the wellkeeper of the west. Soon, we'll be drawing out the water rations.”

  When Bourg reached the well he felt confused. One part of him was extremely happy to see so many people lined up for their water rations. Another part was extremely angry that they were all easterners. No doubt - a direct result of Loden's vigorous efforts. But it wasn’t Loden he was angry at. It was himself. He was the wellkeeper of the west and hadn’t done anything to arouse anyone. He hadn’t even thought about doing it. As he stood beside the well, he was unsure just what he should do: help serve the easterners who were already gathered at the well, or go try to rouse the people of the west.

  As Bourg pondered his options, Loden looked at him anxiously. The excitement of the morning showed on his face. Although still ambivalent, Bourg felt like he had to say something, so he opened his mouth to speak.

  Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang!

  No words came forth as a never-before-heard sound of excessively loud clambering filled the entire valley, causing everyone to clasp their hands over their ears and shake with fear. Since there were no known metal objects in Nuttinnew, no one had ever heard such a sound before. Even the people of the west were shaken from their comfortable beds and in all degrees of dress or undress, rushed from their huts to see what was causing such a noise.

  "It's coming from Center House!" someone shouted and all eyes turned toward the tall, two story building with its towering obelisk perched atop its southernmost gable.

  Just when they all thought the horrendous clambering in their ears was no longer bearable, it stopped and soon its ringing tone dwindled to a slow, steady drone which saturated the air until it gradually faded away into silence.

  “Look! The easterners are already gathered,” a westerner shouted and before long all the people of the west had grabbed up their sacks of pieces and their ration buckets, and were standing in a line of confusion at the well. But before the wellkeepers could begin their task, there came another attention getting shout.

  "Look, look there - on the Center House porch - in the shadows!" Everyone’s eyes turned to focus on the inconspicious figure slowly approaching the porch steps. Inconspicuous, that is, until it stepped out from beneath the porch’s shadows into the full sunlight. Immediately, a great flash of light temporarily blinded the entire gathering. Females screamed. Males yelped. Children cried. Everyone covered their eyes and fell to the ground with a unified thud.

  Only Loden dared to peer through his fingers at the brilliant light. "Well, I'll be!” he exclaimed in a low whisper.

  Upon hearing this Bourg looked at him through slit eyelids. Loden was still staring toward Center House through his laced fingers, but the expression on his face, which first held a look of surprise, quickly twisted into a sarcastic, knowing grin.

  "What is it?" Bourg asked in a hoarse whisper, still afraid to look for himself.

  "So that's what that sly old female was up to last night,” Loden said in a tone that matched his grin."

  "Sly - old - female?" Bourg echoed. His curiosity quickly overcame his cowardice and he ventured a look for himself at the mysterious, brilliant light through his own laced fingers.

  "Why, it's Mayor Pulpitt!" he gasped, startling the others into more curiosity than they could bear. Soon all eyes were fixated on the source of the splendid, gleaming, dancing light. It was none other than their own Honorary Mayor, Pentalope Pulpitt

  As Pentalope regally strode from the Center House porch toward the well, the pieces which adorned her mantle turned and twisted, sending beams of reflected sunlight every which way. It was a most magnificent sight to be sure and Pentalope was delighted with the affect. Although she had intended for the combination of sight and sound to create a dramatic arrival which would impress her fellow Nuttinnewians, she had no expectation they would all to be so humbled as to bow on bended knee at the first sight of her.

  No sooner had she indulged in this fantasy when, as if on command, the masses lifted their heads as one to gaze in awe upon her, or so she imagined. Never in her life had she felt more right in her world. “Was I not born to be so honored and adored? Has not Fate blessed me above all others?” These and other rhetorical questions filled Pentalope’s mind as she stretched her lanky frame to its full stature and marched through the mass of people who were presently parting to open a path to the well. This was truly a moment most longed for and she couldn’t help but preoccupied herself with savoring its every nuance. Otherwise, she might have noticed how her mantle of many pieces now hung ever so slightly heavier than before upon her narrow, boney shoulders.

  It was after Bourg's exclamation, that the gawking expressions replaced hidden faces. Soon everyone saw for themselves that the source of the dazzling light show was, indeed, their own mayor dressed in some strange new mantle. But, oh, what an marvelously magnificent mantle it was. In order to get a better look at it, the people began to step back, forming an open avenue for Pentalope to walk through.

  Although their initial actions were not a direct result of their own self-abasement, as Pentalope had imagined, there was no question that all who looked upon her were quite taken by her glimmering cloak. And as people often do, many transferred their awe for the adornment to awe for the person it adorned. “Perhaps,” many wondered “Mayor Pentalope Pulpitt truly is superior to the rest of us.”

  "We have come for our ration of water," the mayor announced in her most dignified, sobering tone, when she at last reached the well.

  "We?" responded Loden, cocking his head from one side to the other as if attempting to peer around her.

  "Yes, we!" the mayor responded with superior indignation. But the lingering smirk on Loden’s face crumbled her confidence. “Wuderbutz,” she called weakly, “you are back there aren't you?” When the
re was no immediate reply, she turned her head to look over her shoulder and felt her featherweight crown of pieces weightily burrow into her scalp. "Wuderbutz!" she screamed, more out of frustration than pain.

  ***** ***** *****

  Wudrick was still in the Center House belfry. The run up the hidden staircase and the ringing of the bell had not only tired him, it had practically put him in a coma. It was, after all, one thing to hear the bell ringing from a distance; it was quite another to get the heavy, stationary dome swinging, then when you finally did, to hear it clambering at just an arm’s length away. It took several moments for the clanging in his head to stop after the bell ceased ringing.When it did he peered through the wooden slats of the belfry only to discover his wife was already at the well.

  Quickly, he slid down the short twelve-step ladder he had climbed to enter the belfry. Then he dashed past the clutter of dusty artifacts which had long ago been hidden away in the Center House attic. Then descending down a short staircase he came to the interior side of the secret wall panel. Slowly, he slid it aside and crawled into the upstairs hallway.

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  When he’d first discovered the panel, Wudrick was hesitant to even replace it. The seams blended so perfectly, he feared he might never find it again. After all, it was an odd curiosity which had led to the discovery in the first place.

  Wudrick had not spent his entire adult life following after Pentalope and jumping to her commands, nor was he as ignorant as most of his fellow Nuttinnewians assumed. The truth was, Wudrick Pulpitt was Nuttinnew's first and only true scientist. For years he had been studying the various properties and processes which allowed the veget plant to be formed into the various objects and fibers used in the daily lives of the townsfolk.